


Pushing Limits

by sparrow2000



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 04:04:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4420622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparrow2000/pseuds/sparrow2000
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Xander’s a little lost the summer after Buffy’s dive from Glory’s tower. Lindsey’s a little lost after cutting ties with Wolfram & Hart</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pushing Limits

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Preslash  
> Disclaimer: Joss and Mutant Enemy et al, own everything. I own nothing.  
> Comments and feedback are cuddled and called George - either here, or on the [original post](http://sparrow2000.livejournal.com/152883.html#cutid1) at my LJ  
> Beta extraordinaire: thismaz

**Pushing Limits**

Xander notices things.

He notices that the girl behind the bar, who’s chatting to the trucker ordering his fourth beer, really has her attention on the tall, geeky guy in the glasses, nursing a microbrew at the table in the corner. He notices the boy in the leather jacket, hovering over his choice at the jukebox. His finger keeps going back to the row Xander knows has a fairly decent selection of the Clash and Ramones, but he keeps throwing glances at the girl he came in with. She’s kind of preppy looking and earnest, and he punches another button on the bottom row. Foreigner starts telling him they want to know what love is. The preppy girl blushes. Xander knows leather jacket guy is on a pretty good promise later if he keeps playing his cards right.

Slouching in his chair, back to the wall, Xander takes a sip of his beer. It’s his second. He’s making it last. Two days of conference glad-handing have given him a headache and he’s got a long drive back to Sunnydale in the morning. It wouldn’t do for Dawn to see him with a hangover. Not when he’s pseudo big brother, dad, uncle... whatever, now that Buffy’s... and he’s so not going there. Not when it’s so close, so raw. He takes another sip of his beer. Checks out the room again.

There’s a new guy at the end of the bar. He must have come in while Xander was watching the juke box shenanigans. New guy is smaller than him – compact might be the word. He’s wearing jeans that look as if they’ve seen a bit of action and a faded red t-shirt that shows off arms that have got some nice definition.

That’s the other thing Xander notices. Guys. He’s always known that a hard body was as good to look at as a soft curve. It’s just that he’s tended to play at the curvy end of the spectrum. But that’s never stopped him looking. Now he’s got marriage coming down the track at a rate that would make a runaway train look sluggish, it seems like these days the looking’s turned to active speculation. He’s got stuff to tick off his bucket list before turning in his singles card for a future of white picket fences and rampant capitalism.

The guy at the bar slides sideways on his stool, eyes quartering the room like he knows he’s being watched. His gaze rests on Xander for what seems like forever, then he raises his shot glass, mimes a toast, before tossing its contents back in one long swallow. Xander watches as the guy flicks his tongue out, chasing the remains of the liquor off his top lip. Xander feels the need to follow the motion, like a kick in the gut. Bucket lists are a bitch, but they sure make life interesting.

He’s half way across the room before he’s realised he’s moved and the guy at the bar has a smirk on him that would look shitty on anyone else, but on him it just looks like all kinds of dirty promise. Xander slows down. Ambles the rest of the way. He leans his forearms on the bar rail, hoping for casual. “Same again,” he says, pointing to the shot glass.

“Sure, why not,” bar guy says. “If you’ll join me.”

“Sure, why not,” Xander echoes. Thoughts of pseudo parental responsibility and not facing Dawn with a hangover belong in another dimension, possibly the one without shrimp.He signals for the bar tender and before he can start to wonder what Anya might say, there are two tequilas lined up in front of them. Xander picks up one and salutes. Bar guy picks up the other and returns the favour. The tequila burns in the best way going down. This time it’s his tongue flicking out to chase a dribble on his bottom lip and bar guy who’s watching him, the smirk turned to something hungrier.

“I’ve got a room,” Xander says. There’s a part of him that can’t believe he’s doing this and not watching some cheesy piece of cable porn, complete with boom, chicka wow wow music. He tells that part of him to get back to the basement and count to ten in Klingon. He’s focused on the now.

Bar guy nods. “You’re one up on me. All I’ve got is a truck. Getting too old for truck beds, so motel bed wins the hand.”

Xander glances down at the empty shot glass. Thinks about another round, then changes his mind. “I guess I should ask your name,” he says. “But I’m not too sure of the etiquette.”

“Lindsey.”

Xander nods. Bar guy doesn’t look like a Lindsey, but he’s never met one before so he doesn’t exactly have a benchmark. He’s got a feeling any future Lindsey’s are going to fail to come anywhere near the baseline.

Lindsey’s looking at him, eyebrow raised and Xander realises he hasn’t given his own name. He’s kind of new to this kind of thing. “Xander,” he says. “That’s me.” He mentally rolls his eyes. So much for cool, but Lindsey just grins at him.

“Do you want another drink, or do you want to go check the room?” It’s clear from the tone which one Lindsey’s rooting for.

“I’m thinking room,” Xander says and Lindsey smiles like he’s just heard the 11th commandment.

Xander straightens, digs into his wallet and puts some bills on the bar. The girl, pulling another beer for the trucker, winks at him, but it slides off, like he’s coated in Teflon.

Lindsey eases off his stool, biceps flexing nicely as he reaches for his jacket. “So where we headed?” he says.

“Motel across the street. Room 21.”

“Black Jack,” Lindsey says. He looks Xander up and down. The smirk is back. “I play to win.”

“Maybe I’ll have beginners luck,”Xander replies.

For a second Lindsay looks startled, then the smirk takes another bow. “Okay then, let’s go see what you’ve got.” He doesn’t give Xander a chance to answer. Just saunters across the floor. Xander thinks there aren’t many folk can saunter without looking like a complete dick. But Lindsey’s got the moves down pat.

Xander’s already thinking about another type of dick. He wants to move, but figures that a little distance might calm his heart rate and ramp up the anticipation. He pauses, arms bent back, elbows resting on the bar rail and enjoys the view. Lindsey’s ass is tight in his faded jeans, his t-shirt stretched against his back and his hair is just starting to curl at the back of his neck, like it hasn’t been cut for a while. Xander notices these things.

Now he’s done noticing. He pushes off the bar and follows Lindsey across the floor. He doesn’t try to fake a saunter. He knows his limits.

Tomorrow it’s back to reality and common sense and his family holding itself together without a Slayer on the Hellmouth. Tonight, it’s just him, Lindsey and Room 21. Maybe the chance to see just how far his limits will stretch.

He thinks Anya might even thank him when he gets home.


End file.
